“Tell me, did Helen Framley kill that man she was living with?”
“She wasn’t living with him.”
“Oh, splash!”
“It was a business partnership.”
Bertha snorted. “Pickle me for a beet.”
I didn’t say anything. After a few minutes, Bertha said, “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What?”
“Whether she murdered him.”
“I hope she didn’t.”
I didn’t have to look up to realize that her glittering little eyes were searching every line of my face, trying to surprise some telltale expression. “Helen Framley knows a lot about who committed that murder.”